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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26252698">Lynel Ritchie</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihsan997/pseuds/Ihsan997'>Ihsan997</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Legend of Zelda &amp; Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Advice, Gen, Mentor/Protégé, Mentors, Monsters, Pre-Calamity Ganon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:13:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26252698</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihsan997/pseuds/Ihsan997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A century prior to Breath of the Wild, a lost Moblin youth happens upon an ancient Lynel alone in the mist. The wisdom from the old man on the mountain is told through the perspective of giant monsters as the grey-maned creature shares its views of the world.</p><p>This story is background for one of my role playing characters on ZRPG dot net and occurs 21 years prior to the BotW-era Calamity. This story is my own and doesn’t represent ZRPG in any way. I don’t own the Zelda franchise.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Hello</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For three days, Boblin had been trekking alone back toward West Necluda. He’d gone too far into Central Hyrule with the last group of human travelers he’d met, and he hadn’t actually considered where he’d go once he’d escorted them to their hamlet. They’d been kind to let him sleep in their barn for a few days, but eventually the road called to him again, and he moved on to find a busier settlement. Now he was lost, unsure of his location, and thirsty. He’d kidnapped a pair of mountain goats along the way, and he had a few watermelons remaining from the humans, but he’d eventually need water.</p><p>Late on the third afternoon, as he roamed among the grassy hills in a region where he’d encountered neither beast nor man, the sound of a rhythmic pounding of metal on metal reached his ears. The sound of smelted metal was one he only associated with humans, yet he knew that he was far from the places where their kind dared to tread. Looking left and right, the only distinctive landmarks Bob found were the high rocky ridges which rose up from the grassy hills, marking the arid and treeless area as largely barren of life. He didn’t even see any more mountain goats.</p><p>With little else to do and no water in sight, he pushed on, following the sound until he picked up the scent of another furred being. There weren’t any monsters there that he knew of, but a sliver of hope filled his heart. If the other monsters weren’t friendly, then he could always just steal their stuff; that was how they all dealt with each other.</p><p>So onward Bob pressed, weaving in and out of the increasingly high ridges, many of them only meters apart at some points. A light mist blanketed the ground in between the ridges despite the late hour in the day, definitely implying the home of either monsters or criminal humans. How they could survive in such an infertile region was a mystery to him, however.</p><p>When the scent of an unfamiliar monster grew stronger in tandem with the rhythmic sound of metal striking metal, Bob stopped sneaking and make his presence known. Reaching to the pair of mountain goats tied to his belt, he shook one of them until it bleated in complaint against him. “I’m have food,” he called out in a raised voice to whoever was hiding among the misty ridges. “You’re have water?”</p><p>His voice carried throughout the rocky, hilly area, especially now that the metallic clanking had stopped. For a few moments, whoever was there sized him up based on his voice, and he gripped the extra-large Boko club he’d been carrying in case their interaction turned hostile (which was a 50-50 chance). The denizen of the arid area waited for so long that Bob almost called out again; eventually, however, the silence was broken with the sort of response he’d expected.</p><p>“Go away,” came the accented voice of a monster which seemed entirely foreign to him. The voice was deep like his, yet the pronunciation was refined like a human. “This is my home. Go away.”</p><p>Driven by thirst, Bob started to approach again, shaking both of his mountain goats until they bleated frantically in a final offer. “I’m have good meat, good leather. You want?”</p><p>The response was hesitant again, fulfilling a measure of Bob’s hopes. The other monster took a deep breath before speaking in that odd fashion again. “If you don’t leave now, then all the leather you have belongs to me,” the other monster said, though even at Bob’s young age, he knew his interlocutor was either as desperate as him or didn’t want to fight (which he didn’t want either, if he could still find water while avoiding it).</p><p>Having spent a few weeks with humans, Bob tried to imitate the style of communicating he’d noticed from them. “I leave, you no meat, no leather. I stay, you have leather, but I want water. Good?”</p><p>This time, the response was a little more swift. “Hurry up, then. Follow the sound.” The other monster started banging metal on metal again, confusing Bob in a way which would have caused him more confusion had his lips not been so parched.</p><p>The sound was very, very close, and as he followed it among the increasingly narrow passes in between the rock ridges, the mist cleared away as if like magic. Signs of habitation increased as he passed by bone charms and sinew ropes, and Bob quickened his pace. To his great surprise, the resident of the remote region was a thing of legend, and a creature which he’d never before seen. He stopped in his tracks when he rounded a corner into a small ravine among the rocks.</p><p>Standing across from him was a real, actual Lynel; four legs, two arms, two horns, and a graying mane which matched the glassy nature of the old feline’s eyes. A large rock with a flattened top laid between the two of them, almost like a defensive measure, with a fire pit stoked next to them. In the feline’s hand was a hammer, the smooth sort of metal implement which absolutely no monsters truly understood, its craftsmanship impeccable and seemingly impossible without the support of a whole village. Laying on the rock was a sword, a real, actual sword sized for a monster, red hot from the fire and savage in its presentation. Nothing which Bob was seeing made sense.</p><p>The Lynel itself was an odd specimen. Even though Bob wasn’t a fully grown Moblin yet, the Lynel was roughly his size and hunched over, in addition to lacking the mass his mother had told him of in her stories. The beast appeared to be quite old and unwell, though it compensated for its below average size with a scowl which could stop anyone in their tracks. The two of them sized each other up for a moment, though there was a hunger in the Lynel’s eyes as it glanced at the two goats.</p><p>Neither of them moved, though the tension revealed that neither of them truly wanted a fight either. “Those goats are mine now,” the Lynel said with a front of sternness. Bob was beyond caring, as was his interlocutor.</p><p>“You’re have water?” he asked in an attempted peace offering, seeing how neither of them were in any shape to quarrel.</p><p>The Lynel snorted. “Behind me, there lies a spring,” it replied in its peculiar way of speaking. “You can stay for two days, one day for each goat, but I expect you to work.”</p><p>Sudden fatigue overtook Bob once he realized that he’d found a place to rest, and he nodded and took the goats by the reins he’d fashioned from fiber and horsehair. “Fair. I’m work.” He held out the reins to the Lynel, who took them cautiously after laying down the hammer. The two of them sized each other up awkwardly one last time before the Lynel relented, granting Bob much relief once the aches of travel made themselves felt.</p><p>“You’re free to drink until you’re full. Sleep early. If you don’t want me to send you out, then be prepared to work starting in the morning.” The Lynel walked away to tie up the goats in an alcove in the ridge and didn’t speak to Bob again until the morning.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Advice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the morning of the second day, Boblin had almost gotten used to the Lynel’s habit of waking up at the same specified time every day, though he certainly didn’t like it. Such a schedule was the sort of behavior he associated with humans, and there was this weird Lynel living in a misty forest of igneous rocks doing so by choice. So much of this creature was different from all the stories he’d heard about the giant felines around campfires of his childhood.</p><p>What was the same as the stories, however, was the Lynel’s belief that it was better than other monsters due to its intelligence. The crotchety old lion had said little to Bob other than direct orders, and otherwise avoided direct interaction. Had Bob not feared the eloquent reaction of a being who was, to be fair, smarter than him, he would have answered in protest. Instead, he merely watched the Lynel’s obsessive work ethic and tried to observe as much as he could from its behavior.</p><p>Like the previous day, the Lynel returned to the large, flat rock next to a fire pit it had kindled in the rock clearing it called home. The craftsmanship was incredible in the Moblin’s eyes. All by itself, without the support of a whole village industry like humans had, the Lynel worked a long strip of metal which Bob realized was a weathered, blunted sword. Using a hammer which it must have fashioned itself, the felinoid monster tempered and shaped the blade until apparent flaws were worked out and its prowess was resorted. Who exactly the Lynel expected to fight so far away from even animal life was a mystery, and would remain a mystery given the nature of their interactions.</p><p>“Hold it here,” the Lynel ordered him while pointing toward the hilt. Bob took the ornately crafted handle, an incredible masterpiece of metal along with leather and wood. “Now dip it in the water. Let the tip touch the bottom so you can rest the handle above the surface. Don’t let it fall inside. No, slide it to the left. The left. No, the left. No, that was too far, back to the right.”</p><p>There was a metal cauldron which didn’t look like the types humans used to cook, and the vessel was full of water from the spring behind them. Why hot metal needed to be dunked in cold water made no sense to Bob, but he complied all the same. “Why come we do this?” he asked after turning back toward the hunched, grouchy little Lynel, and he received a hunched, grouchy little answer.</p><p>“I’ve welcomed you to spend your two days here, not to tell you our secrets,” the graying old monster replied gruffly. It laid the hammer down next to the flat stone and wiped soot from its hands. While it walked, Bob got a good look at the Lynel’s left rear leg, noticing that it was withered; the limb had serious scarring on it, and the Lynel avoid putting weight on it.</p><p>Curious as a young adult tended to be, the juvenile Moblin followed the Lynel over to a pile of old furs where it sat down and then sat himself down on the grass across from it. “You’re smaller than Lynel stories I hear them,” Bob said, trying to make conversation in the blunt fashion which had always been tolerated by his tribe.</p><p>The Lynel, being unrelated to him, was just as blunt right back. “Only an ignoramus comments so obviously on another monster’s appearance, boy,” embarrassing Bob with the harsh words in spite of the even tone. “I’m small, yes, but I’m here, and the others aren’t. Remember: I’m old for a reason.” When Bob tilted his head at his elder monster, the Lynel realized that he didn’t understand the implication and sighed in exasperation. “The reason is that I fought harder than the others, so being small wasn’t a hindrance.”</p><p>“Oh…sense making,” Bob replied, now more cautious with his words. “So…you fought with other Lynels, or you and other Lynels fought against enemies?”</p><p>“I’m not saying,” the Lynel said while fanning itself with a horsehair brush. It didn’t offer the implement to Bob despite the heat from the fire pit in the rock clearing, prompting Bob to continue talking to take his mind off of the heat.</p><p>“How you know make metal like humans? Do Lynels learned from humans?”</p><p>“I’m not saying,” the Lynel repeated firmly.</p><p>“Do allbody Lynels live alone, or have families?”</p><p>“I’m not saying.”</p><p>“Why come your leg is hurt?”</p><p>“Kid, I’m not saying! I told you yesterday, our secrets remain with us.”</p><p>Intimidated by the Lynel’s intelligence and tendency toward scolding, Bob nodded and remained quiet for a moment, struggling to think of a graceful way to answer toward the brusque rebuff. “I’m sorry. I’m just talk to pass time, know friend. You’re smart and know stuff cause old. I’m just try to learn.”</p><p>Not entirely paying attention, the Lynel closed its eyes while fanning itself. “You should’ve learned from your tribe; I can’t teach you the wisdom from on high in only two days, nor is it my job to. Your daddy should’ve done that.”</p><p>Bob’s ears drooped, folding at the middle as they sagged downward. “I never met my dad. He was leave my mom before my born.”</p><p>The Lynel’s response was swift, characteristically blunt, though spoken in earnest like sincere advice. “We all have a woobie sob story, boy; not a soul in Hyrule is without one. Telling yours so readily and openly doesn’t make you unique; it makes you look desperate for attention and approval from others. You want a lesson your daddy should’ve taught you? Then here it is: don’t ever start blabbing to people so soon, without them earning your trust, about whatever events in your past you might think are tragedies. Whoever you commiserate with has a fifty-fifty chance of having suffered more than you anyway, and you won’t earn their respect by portraying yourself as a charity case due to a lack of hugs during childhood. You want respect, loyalty, friendship? Then earn it through your behavior.”</p><p>Silenced by the minor outburst, Bob hung on every word, amazed that one comment had elicited so much advice from the taciturn feline. The Lynel’s slow rhythm of speech, combined with the total absence of distractions or white noise, helped the Moblin to comprehend what he’d been told in spite of the big words. Everything made sense, and after a few moments of pondering the more difficult expressions such as ‘fifty-fifty’ and ‘blabbing,’ Bob [i]actually[/i] understood what the old monster was telling him.</p><p>And when Bob had understood the full message, the sense of embarrassment settled in again. In a single sentence, he’d done everything the Lynel had advised him not to do, and he inherently accepted the advice of such an ancient and intelligent creature as necessarily true. Letting his snout angle downward toward the grass, Bob felt heat rise in his cheeks, and he wished he could turn invisible even though there was only one other monster there with him.</p><p>In the most fatherly act anyone had ever extended to Bob since he left his old Bokoblin mentor at his former tribe, the Lynel clicked its tongue against the roof of its mouth to get his attention. Looking up again, Bob found that his elder monster had stopped fanning itself, and its old stone face…well, it hadn’t softened, but it lost some of the terse dismissiveness it had possessed before.</p><p>“You didn’t do anything wrong, boy,” the Lynel conceded. “Consider my advice an added bonus in addition to the water.”</p><p>Residual embarrassment prevented Bob from speaking out of turn again, though the reassurance did pull the teenaged Moblin out of his shell again. “Thank for help words,” he replied, noticing how much pressure had been piled onto his ego now that it had suddenly been removed by the concession. And since the old lion had made amends for the earlier police rant, Bob tried to push his luck. “I can borrow?” he asked while pointing to the horsehair fan.</p><p>“No. You can go back to the spring and cool yourself off. We start work again when the sun starts to descend.”</p><p>So much work…is that all the Lynel ever did? “Okay,” Bob replied with a grin, happy that he’d built up the confidence to push his luck. He took his leave toward the natural spring water to rest until they had to finish the smithing work for the day. The Lynel said only a handful of sentences more between then and nightfall.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Goodbye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Boblin stood at the edge of the rock forest on the morning of the third day. Stocked up with a sack full of trinkets and animal bones which the Lynel hadn’t wanted anymore, in addition to his melons, the Moblin was rested enough to continue his journey. The old Lynel walked alongside him on its three good legs until they reached the edge of the mist-covered rock forest and then stood there, looking to the opposite direction from which Bob had arrived.</p><p>“You start your journey in this direction, and you only stop to sleep if possible,” the gruff, graying feline said while pointing to the correct path down the rocky hills. “If you’re frugal with those melons, then you should see the signs of human frontiersmen just after you start to feel the sting of thirst. From there, you should be able to take what you want.”</p><p>Although Bob didn’t prefer such a bullying attitude toward humans, he didn’t argue the point; the Lynel had made clear, during the two-and-a-half day visit, that he was a guest in its home and wasn’t welcome to contradict its views. “Thanks you; I was very lost before come here.”</p><p>The Lynel only nodded and grunted. “Your luck may run out next time. Try not to travel through regions you don’t know; there may not always be a grouchy old bastard like me there to help you the next time.”</p><p>Mimicking the elder monster’s behavior, Bob resisted the urge to turn and stare at it, merely staring forward in the direction of exit as it was doing. He’d picked up on a number of behaviors while there, often in embarrassing ways as the gray-maned Lynel told him in no uncertain terms that he was being an annoying pest. Instead of acting on those old teenage impulses, he spoke quietly and tried to avoid pretense.</p><p>“I’m travel a lot now; maybe I come next season to learn more? I’ll can bring more goats.”</p><p>Rather than accept his offer, however, the Lynel closed its eyes and took a deep breath, appearing a little pretentious itself. “Don’t bother, kid. I won’t be here when you arrive.”</p><p>This time, Bob actually did look over to the old monster, its eyes still closed, and then back toward the winding path through the vertical stone formations. There was a decent living space back there, and he wondered why one would abandon a private space with a natural spring in it. So much of this creature’s behavior bore goals which the young Moblin couldn’t understand.</p><p>“Where will you being? This is a place good.”</p><p>Slow to respond, the Lynel opened its eyes again, but continued staring out ahead. Nothing changed in its physical appearance, yet somehow, it looked a hundred years older upon considering the question. “We’ve already reached the full extent of my willingness to answer,” it replied in its characteristically complicated diction which mandated that Bob slow down and consider the words in order to comprehend them. “If you want a parting gift, boy, then I’ll grant you the last: don’t lower yourself. People don’t owe you their sympathy, and seeking it will cause them to look down on you until one of you is dead and buried.”</p><p>For a few moments, Bob waited to see if there was more to the final piece of advice than that, but at no point did the Lynel change the direction fo its gaze. Only when the Moblin began to suspect that the advice was an indirect answer to his question did the have the gall to ask more. “Are you have name?” he asked, immediately eliciting an irritated sigh through the feline’s nostrils. “Maybe never see you again, but I’m can remember. Can tell shamans to say your name.”</p><p>Though the Lynel immediately frowned in disapproval, it stopped breathing for a second as if it were reconsidering whatever rebuff it had been planning. Shaking its head, there was only a brief respite from its surly hermitage. “Ritchie is fine,” it replied, its eyes still trained forward. “I’m finished talking. Go on, now; you need to move. By the time you reach signs of life, you’ll already be pushing your resource limits. Don’t waste time.”</p><p>There was much which Bob still wanted to ask his elder monster, but the memories of his thirst when he’d arrived increased his sense of urgency. Not wanting to end up stranded [i]without[/i] a random recluse to provide assistance, he started to walk in the correct direction back toward the kingdom proper. “Bye bye Lynel Ritchie!” he said while leaving, though the old lion didn’t respond; it didn’t even blink. It just continued watching the last living being it would ever speak to walk away, a look of contentment in its eyes once the youngling monster had found its way back on track.</p>
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